JAVANESE DANCERS,TWITCHED strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums.Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting;And now the stealthy dancer comesUndulantly with cat-like steps that cling;Smiling between her painted lids a smile,Motionless, unintelligible, she twinesHer fingers into mazy lines,Twining her scarves across them all the while.One, two, three, four step forth, and, to and fro,Delicately and imperceptibly,Now swaying gently in a row,Now interthreading slow and rhythmically,Still with fixed eyes, monotonously still,Mysteriously, with smiles inanimate,With lingering feet that undulate,With sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill,The little amber-coloured dancers move,Like little painted figures on a screen,Or phantom-dancers haply seenAmong the shadows of a magic grove.
TWITCHED strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums.Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting;And now the stealthy dancer comesUndulantly with cat-like steps that cling;
Smiling between her painted lids a smile,Motionless, unintelligible, she twinesHer fingers into mazy lines,Twining her scarves across them all the while.
One, two, three, four step forth, and, to and fro,Delicately and imperceptibly,Now swaying gently in a row,Now interthreading slow and rhythmically,
Still with fixed eyes, monotonously still,Mysteriously, with smiles inanimate,With lingering feet that undulate,With sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill,
The little amber-coloured dancers move,Like little painted figures on a screen,Or phantom-dancers haply seenAmong the shadows of a magic grove.